


i promise you the truth can't hurt us now

by fictionalportal (kienava)



Series: Back to Beacon: Bees Edition [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Pining, Volume 2 (RWBY), guess what? they're soulmates, it's soft bee hours y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kienava/pseuds/fictionalportal
Summary: Blake didn’t even look up from her homework. “Please don’t subject me to baked potato night,” she groaned.“We could always eat out.”Yeah. Studying was definitely a lost cause.(Question prompt from everhaunting: what stupid thing was Yang doing when Blake realized she was in love?Answer: smelling her own armpit.)





	i promise you the truth can't hurt us now

Whoever invented memorization-based tests was an absolutely irredeemable villain. This was a fact, the truth of which was only reinforced by the sprawl of papers and books across the desk in front of Blake. Three hours of studying and she was still fairly certain she’d forget it all if she so much as stood up. Blake was better with ideas and concepts, more suited to synthesis and rhetoric.

Maybe it was her natural inclination to the bigger picture that made her such an asset to the White Fang in the first place.

It was hard enough to deal with Professor Port’s lectures without Roman and her former White Fang brethren breathing down her neck (_they_ certainly didn’t get results by wasting time cramming useless facts into their brains). Between secret missions and nightmares, her grades had been slipping, but how was she supposed to care about school when the entire world could fall apart the next day?

Speaking of distractions, the rest of her team was due back from sparring any minute. As much as Blake loved practicing with them, she was exhausted, so she’d opted to take the evening for herself in the hopes of being productive.

Plus, training meant spending two hours in close quarters with the most dangerous distraction of all: Yang.

With the stress of exams and sleep deprivation and saving the world, Blake wasn't sure her self-control could hold out much longer.

In real battles, the adrenaline was more than enough to keep her attention on the fight, but sparring matchups didn’t offer the same pulse-pounding threat of mortal injury. Instead, Blake was often stuck going toe-to-toe with an objectively _stunning_ person who took every opportunity to wink, smirk, flex, and quip at her. It didn’t help that Yang approached training sessions with a “shirts optional” attitude, citing something about the humidity.

How was Blake supposed to think clearly about battle strategy when facing off with her very sweaty, very shirtless partner?

Her focus slipped more often than Blake’s pride cared to admit. In close combat, Yang's directness had the advantage, but sometimes Blake could find a tricky way to gain the upper hand. The day before, she’d managed to back Yang into a corner and sweep her feet out from under her, knocking her to the floor and climbing on top of her to pin her down. Blake was winning the fight, objectively speaking, but the sly grin on Yang’s face made her feel far more vulnerable than any potential opening in her defenses. A harsh throat clear from Weiss abruptly brought them to their feet. Blake resolved at that moment that it was far too dangerous to indulge in thoughts of what might have happened if Weiss hadn’t been there, if she’d been alone with Yang underneath her...

Blake realized she’d spent the past few minutes daydreaming about that exact situation. She dropped her forehead against the little pillow her hands made atop the desk, wishing not for the first time that evening that she could physically shove boring details about the history of Remnant into her skull to displace the entirely inappropriate scene playing out in her mind.

Maybe she should take a break. 

On cue, the door opened.

“Hello!” Yang’s voice sang. “Wow, I am starving. Kicking my sister’s butt works up an appetite.”

Blake didn’t even look up. “Please don’t subject me to baked potato night,” she groaned.

“We could always eat out.” 

Yeah. Studying was definitely a lost cause.

A sudden, loud sniffing noise made Blake start. She sat up to see Yang smelling her own armpit.

“What are you doing? Where are Weiss and Ruby?”

Yang dropped her arm to her side. Her orange tank top was completely soaked through with sweat, evidence of a productive practice session. “They went straight to the cafeteria, but Weiss said I had to come back and shower first.” Another obnoxious sniff. “I kinda see why.”

Blake had to stifle a laugh.

Yang shrugged and yanked her shirt off, but it stuck to her back. “I told her everybody sweats, you know? What’s the big deal?” She said, muffled.

“True, but not everyone makes a point of smelling their own armpit.”

With an extra tug, Yang managed to yank her shirt over her head, leaving her in exactly the state of undress that Blake was trying so desperately to push out of her mind’s foreground. She balled up the tank top and narrowed her eyes. “Are you calling me gross?”

Stoicism was Blake’s most reliable defense against her instinct to get up, shove her partner’s back against the door, and do something they’d both probably regret. Instead, she countered, deadpan. “Yes. It’s awful. I can barely breathe in here.”

With a feigned gasp, Yang placed a hand over her chest.

Blake cracked a smile. Their easy banter was so reliable, always. Her studying-induced headache was already fading, lists of random names forgotten in the bright shadow of someone who mattered more than any of them.

Then, to Blake’s confusion, Yang was wearing that familiar cocky expression that she usually reserved for a nearly won battle.

Blake sat back and raised an eyebrow. “Yang? Why are you--” A little shriek escaped her as she was tackled out of her chair and onto the floor.

The salty odor of fresh sweat filled her nostrils mercilessly. Her back was flat on the floor and Yang’s armpit was inches from her face.

“Does it really smell that bad?” Yang teased. “You gotta sniff it.”

“Yang! Get off me!” She laughed, shock and hysteria bubbling over. Despite her protest, she clutched Yang’s bare shoulders, holding her exactly where she was.

They both collapsed in a fit of giggles. Blake felt the wonderful burn of it in her lungs, breathless.

Soon their laughter was carried off by the current of time, leaving them stranded in a tableau that Blake had imagined a hundred times over. Damp, golden blonde hair cascaded around her face in a curtain, and for a blissful moment all she saw was sunrise and violet and freckles.

Close, so close.

(To be frank, her fantasies normally didn’t have such a pungent odor. Perfection was overrated, anyway.)

Etched into Yang’s features was a question, a possibility, a line Blake was afraid to acknowledge, let alone cross.

And still, she caught herself staring.

The pull in her stomach made her want to run, put distance between herself and what she wanted but couldn’t have. _Not now._ She latched onto her own heartbeat, desperate for a tether to ground her - but her blood wasn’t in her head, rationalizing and thinking. It was pooling in her fingertips, in her tongue, between her legs, hammering against her ribs.

And then there was another pulse. Strong, fast. It burned against Blake’s chest like a fever, hot and delirious and consuming.

Blake swore she could hear it, feel it.

Couldn’t she?

Her palm slipped against the sheen of sweat on Yang’s collar and came to rest over the source.

Each beat was a spark, a threat to ignite a faulty engine - wasn’t it? Wasn’t this supposed to be the place where danger itself went up in flames?

Surely there was some reason to hold back.

A swarm of freckles rushed closer, veering off course, and there was a gentle pressure on Blake’s cheek.

_Her lips are so soft,_ Blake thought a dozen times with only one interruption: _and warm._

The softness and warmth retreated. Yang sat up, putting all too much distance between their pounding hearts. Blake tried to quiet her own from crying out so loudly. Even in the silence, the gravity was too strong, drawing her up to narrow the gap.

“Sorry,” Yang said, one hand rubbing the back of her neck. “That was a little uncalled for.”

Thrown by the comment, Blake remembered then that she did, in fact, have the capacity to speak. “How so?” She swept her hair out of her face, biting back a smile as her fingers brushed over the spot on her cheek those lips had touched.

Yang’s hands landed on her own hips, a goofy attempt at a power pose given her current position straddling Blake’s lap. “So I should tell Weiss you _liked_ having my disgusting armpit in your face?”

“That’s not what I said,” Blake said quickly. 

A good-natured laugh from Yang made Blake’s face heat up. Yang wasn’t talking about the kiss, but that stupid smirk was threatening to break the surface. “So what did you mean?”

Blake’s feet were growing tired of all this tip-toeing. “Nothing,” she replied eloquently.

“Nothing,” Yang repeated, and it sounded an awful lot like _something_.

“Yang, I--” Blake bit her lip to stop herself, wrangling her words before more could slip out. She knew what they’d be. She couldn’t risk them getting loose. It was too risky. Too impulsive. Too short-sighted. All things Blake had been in the past, pieces of herself that she would extract with a scalpel if she could.

Wouldn’t it be kinder to hide and let those parts rot away somewhere far from someone whose smile sprouted so easily? There it was, blooming and bright, hopeful, inviting. There were a thousand sprawling seas less lovely than those eyes, that kind, violet undertow that made Blake wonder if she really needed to breathe at all. Only one thing could explain the way they could freeze Blake's most anxious instincts and light a fire under her heart at the same time. 

But how dare she pull Yang closer when she didn’t trust herself to hold on?

While Blake’s mind was busy spiraling, her traitorous tongue took its chance to speak again. “Yang...”

_(I want you.)_

_(I need you.)_

_(I love you.)_

“Yeah,” Yang exhaled. Her smile dropped away, leaving her lips parted, eyes still glittering. “Same here.”

Blake blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

Yang shrugged knowingly. “I still heard you.”

It displaced everything else. Fear of the past, fear of the sea, fear of herself - all of it was gone, forgotten, crushed under the graceful weight of anticipation.

And Blake tasted salt.

An undeniable sweetness took over as a strong hand found its way to the back of her head, grounding her before the kiss could carry her off, weightless. She could stay here, safe and solid and loved, as long as she wanted. As long as Yang wanted her to.

Then calloused fingertips grazed her bare waist and Blake was alight.

Suddenly she remembered what Yang _wasn’t_ wearing, and there was too much skin, too much heat, too much, too _much_.

Blake broke away, gasping, her body clambering to remember the simple mechanics of inhaling.

“Whoa,” Yang said, making no effort to mask her awe.

“Was that okay?” Blake asked.

“Are you serious?” Yang sounded incredulous. 

Blake searched her face but found no hints.

Until, that is, an uncharacteristically shy smile creeped in at the corner’s of Yang’s mouth. “You just stole my first kiss.”

Oh. Right.

“Aw, man. I was all sweaty and gross for my first kiss!”

Blake poked a finger at Yang’s chest. “So you admit you’re gross.”

“Nope. It’s like tag. You kissed me, so now you’re the gross one.” Yang held her hands up in feigned innocence. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Hmm. In that case...”

Blake kissed her again, lingering and deep.

“Tag,” she whispered.

She pushed Yang off of her and leapt up.

Her intention was to flee the room and seek sanctuary in the dining hall, but Yang caught her by the wrist and spun her around before she even made it to the door. Their lips met again, and Blake had never been happier to lose.

***

**Author's Note:**

> y'all i spent 40% of my flight to LA writing this gay shit and the other 60% worrying that the man next to me was reading over my shoulder
> 
> anyway wish me luck in my apartment search, please leave good vibes in the tip jar 
> 
> love u all <3


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